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*
By the third day, Anthony lost hope that Tobias would change his mind and set him free. A void of hunger grew at the center of his stomach, sucking in his energy hour by hour. Dima entered the room a few times a day to eat and drink next to the bed. He didn’t allow Anthony to look away while he gulped down cold water and devoured food. Anthony tried to picture worms crawling over everything Dima put in his mouth, but eventually, even the worms became appealing.
One of Dima’s cruelest games involved sliding a peeled banana into Anthony’s mouth and forbidding him to bite. The sweet taste steered and tugged at his taste buds; the temptation so fierce it was almost worth the punishment. But he didn’t dare, knowing he wouldn’t get more than one bite before he’d be hit with the consequences.
To pass the time, Dima liked to lie with his head on Anthony’s stomach, listening to its angry rumbling and cheering whenever a big one appeared. But by the third day, the rumbling stopped. His stomach must have given up on signaling for help. Headaches quickly followed, pounding and paralyzing. They hit so hard his eyes stung, but he could do nothing but wait for them to pass.
Time continued to crawl.
*
“This guy is the funniest. He hates Marina, but she’s the sister of his pretty wife, so he needs to pretend.”
The actors on the screen continued to speak in Russian. Anthony watched them in silence because what else was he supposed to do while sitting on the couch with his hands cuffed?
Dima had said this was Anthony’s present for being good, but there was nothing rewarding about starving next to a man who drank beer and loudly stuffed popcorn into his mouth. The Russian TV show was just the icing on the rotten cake.
Dima had been giving him enough water to keep him alive, but he hadn’t given him anything so far today. Anthony had yet to figure out how to get on Dima’s good side. The man’s mood was fickle and unpredictable.
Dima laughed at something the man on the screen had said. “He’s going to get into trouble with his wife, just wait.” He took a sip of beer and glanced at Anthony. “Why do you look like this? Enjoy your present. You don’t need to know Russian to enjoy it. Laugh.”
Anthony didn’t.
Dima sighed. “If I let you drink, will you laugh?”
A spark of hope cut through Anthony’s numbness. “Yes.”
“Fine.” Dima put the beer on the table, cleared his throat, and spat on his open palm. “Here.” He held his hand in front of Anthony, who stared at it in confusion. “Go on. I’ll give you more if you drink it all.”
I can’t do this. I can’t.
He shut down his self-respect and lowered his face to lick the open palm clean. It tasted like beer, but it could have tasted like shoes for all he cared. Dima spat again, and Anthony didn’t hesitate, unable to stop the moans of pleasure from escaping his mouth. Dima spat six more times before taking onekerneland holding it in front of Anthony. At that moment, the little kernel seemed like a juicy steak. With his heart catching speed, Anthony leaned forward with his mouth open, but Dima let the kernel fall on the floor.
“Oopsy. It slipped. I don’t think you’d want to eat something from the floor.”
Anthony was on his knees in two seconds, snatching the smallkernelbetween his lips and swallowing it. The salt felt overwhelming, assaulting his tongue, but when Dima threw anotherkernelon the floor, Anthony shuffled over with his bound hands and ate it.kernelslanded across the floor, and Anthony hurried to snatch each one, dragging his naked body from side to side and further exhausting himself. But he didn’t care. This was food and he needed it to survive and get back home.
Dima started throwing thekernelsfarther away, forcing Anthony to work harder to reach eachone. He ignored the alarming speed of his heartbeat and dragged himself wherever thekernelslanded.
Eventually, Dima stopped and patted the seat next to him. Anthony reached the couch with his remaining strength, panting like after a run. His knees throbbed and his head spun.
Dima smiled and pinched his cheek. “Feeling better?”
It was surprising how much more alive he felt, even though he’d ended up sweating more fluids than he’d gotten. “I think I feel better.”
“Now do what we said, and make it good.”
With his mouth still burning of salt, Anthony began to laugh.
He was losing his goddamn mind in this place.
*
“You stink,” Dima said.
Anthony lay on his side, facing the world outside, a world he hadn’t been a part of for over a week. A few days ago, Dima had decided to remove the cuffs, after likely acknowledging that Anthony was too weak to be a threat. Once the cuffs were off, Dima had said, “Try to escape.”
“What?”
